KFC, Dish Towels, and Tampons
by Kioasakka
Summary: Sansa Stark and Lorelai Gilmore have other errands to run, so they drop their men off at Target with a shopping list. Sandor was promised KFC if he could get through shopping without killing anybody. Luke falls prey to Target Syndrome. This can only end badly. Oneshot for the lulz.


_A/N: While texting about Sandor with my best friend yesterday, who was watching Gilmore Girls, she interjected with surprise that Luke Danes had never been in Target. _

_"I'm now picturing Luke and Sandor Clegane in Target," I said. "Luke's being awkward as fuck and Sandor's only talking in cruel rasps." __"I feel a one-shot coming on," she replied. __And here it is. Though readers of Sandor fic will be pleased to find I never once used 'cruel' or 'rasp' to describe him or his speaking._

_Please enjoy! I had a lot of fun with this one ;)_

—

"Fuck this."

The bright colors were one thing. Everything was screaming in red and white and blue and yellow. The actual screaming, though, was another.

Sandor Clegane felt the burned side of his face twitch. His fingers clenched and unclenched. He couldn't believe he had let Sansa talk him into leaving his sword in the car.

"Eh, jeez… don't you just hate screaming kids?" asked Luke Danes, stuffing his hands into his back jeans pockets. "This is exactly why I don't come to these places."

"Don't you run a diner?" Sandor grunted. "You must have screaming everything in there."

"Nah, see, I can keep my diner under control. But these parents—don't they know how obnoxious their kids are?" He pulled out his hands to gesture at the masses.

"Fuck this shit. I'm going back outside."

"Well wait a minute," said Luke quickly. "Can't be too hard just to find a few things and get outta here." He smirked, but it came out as more of a grimace. "You afraid of Target, big guy?"

Sandor's eyes narrowed at him, filled with murderous intent. He pointed a finger at Luke. "You're lucky I was promised KFC if I didn't kill anybody in here."

"Great!" Luke clapped his hands together, nodding awkwardly. "The sooner we get out of here, the better, huh? Let's get moving."

They wandered deeper into the store. "Let's see," said Luke, pulling the list out of his pocket. "Lorelai needs 'a coffee mug shaped like an animal head,' uhh, okay, and some Lucky Charms cereal, shampoo, and, ah… uh…" His ears grew red hot. "Ladies' products."

Sandor snorted. "If you act embarrassed getting your woman some cunt rags, people might think they're really for you." He grinned a wolfish grin. "What's it got on there for me?"

"Ah, new dish towels, oven cleaner, the movie Love Actually on DVD, yeesh… oh, great, and more tampons. _Why_ did they put these on the list?"

"Well let's get fucking on with it." Sandor spotted a red shirt walking by and grabbed it in his fist, lifting the pitiful employee off the floor. "Where in this gods-forsaken store is the wine?"

"S-S-Security!" cried the employee, who had gone white in the face. "Help!"

Sandor shook him. "Shut your damn cunt mouth," he hissed, which prompted Luke to break in and try to wrangle the employee away.

"Hey, hey, stop it, all right? You'll get us thrown out of here." To the employee he said, "I'm so sorry, um, my friend here is a bit of an ass, you know, but he's not that bad."

The employee didn't appear to believe him, and stared openly in horror at Sandor's burned face. "W-We don't s-sell w-wine… um… you'll have to go to th-the liquor s-store next door…"

"It'll be your arse on a shining silver platter if you don't have any fucking wine," snarled Clegane.

"Sandor, all right, give it a rest," insisted Luke. "We'll get you wine when we leave. Now sir, uh," to the employee again, "please forget any of this ever happened. Blank slate and all that. Could you maybe show us where we can find all the stuff on this list so we can buy it and get outta here as quickly as possible?"

But the employee was running away at top speed, and disappeared down an aisle. Luke sighed. "Can you just not do that while we're here?" he asked, exasperated. "I thought Sansa told you—"

"I didn't _kill_ the shit," sneered Sandor. "Pissing yourself doesn't hurt anything but your dignity. And we know he hasn't got any of that. He works at Target."

Luke was beet red. "Ah, yeah, okay. Jeez… Um, anyway. That sign over there says 'Kitchen & Dining.' That's probably where we can find half of this stuff." He started walking before Sandor could possibly say anything else that would get them both blacklisted.

The diner owner was searching through the mugs when the big man finally tromped into the aisle. He was one ahead of Luke, but Sandor towered over the half-aisles. He picked up a fry pan. "You think Sansa needs another one of these? She's only got about fifty-two hundred of 'em."

"Oh, actually, I could probably use a new one," said Luke, abandoning the mugs, none of which looked like animals anyway. He stood by Sandor and took the pan from him, feeling its heft. "This one's a piece of crap. This one maybe…"

Sandor's mouth twitched as Luke went through the pans, and he turned to go find the dish towels. The selection available was mystifying. There were seemingly hundreds of different colors, textures, sizes, and patterns of towels. He had absolutely no idea what kind she wanted, and if he bought the wrong ones, he knew she'd bitch him out about it. But then it was her fault anyway for sending him to do a job he couldn't do. Annoyed, he picked two at random: a lime green waffle dish cloth and an orange checkered one with the word 'Tuesday' on it in differing typefaces.

"Wait, I think we have some blue ones, too," he murmured to himself, and grabbed four blue terrycloth towels, all of differing sizes and shades. One had the words 'Loving life . . . happy kitchen' running down the middle.

He stuffed all six towels under his arm and went back to the aisle where Luke was still comparing pans. "I think I've almost picked one," he said absently to the big man, who shrugged.

"I'll get that oven cleaner. Get your other shit and meet me at Aisle Cunt Rag."

Luke's head snapped up and he looked around warily. "Maybe you should cool it with the language, wise guy," he hissed. "There are still kids, here."

"Don't give a fuck," said Sandor, stomping his heavy feet toward the Cleaning aisle.

Luke thought fast, decided to go with both fry pans instead of just one, and tucked them under his arm as he fast-walked to the food department at the back of the store.

—

There were two women gossiping over their shopping carts in Cleaning, and each cart had a baby in the seat. They didn't appear to be in any particular hurry, but both gave a gasp and a shudder when they saw Sandor's face and his full mail and armor. For good measure, he smiled at them, a mean-looking smile, all teeth and sneer.

"I hope I'm not bothering you clucking hens," he said sarcastically. His thoughts briefly were distracted by his metaphor, and he thought of the beautiful tub of chicken he'd be getting if he didn't fuck this up.

"OH!" exclaimed one of the women, a little too loudly. "No, you weren't at all! Are we in your way?" She and her friend gripped their carts till their knuckles went white, ready to jettison off like the Target employee. One of the babies was drooling an exorbitant amount of spittle onto his shirt and now his mother's hand.

Sandor grunted. "Just taking up the whole aisle, I suspect. I'm not a skinny rail, see, I can't fit past you aurochs." He checked himself at their bewildered looks, and corrected his error. "Cows. That's the word."

The women gasped wildly in offense. "Why, I never!" huffed the one with the drooling whelp. "I will see you at pilates, Marianne." She shuffled away.

"Excuse me sir, but that's no way to talk to people!" exclaimed the remaining woman.

He grinned again. "I'm no _ser_."

"Apparently not! You're very rude!" And with that, she pushed off with her own cart.

Sandor barked a laugh. He was finding this Target place to be almost entertaining.

—

Meanwhile, in the food section, Luke had grabbed a basket for his growing number of items. He was low on razors, too, so he'd have to remember to pick some up when he got Lorelai's shampoo—those were in the same aisle, right? He was halfway to Health & Beauty when he realized he hadn't gotten the Lucky Charms.

He grabbed them and was heading back out again when he heard: "There he is!" He looked in the direction of the sound and groaned. "Ah, damn it," he muttered under his breath. Making a beeline for him was the employee from earlier, accompanied by two security officers.

"Why, hello," he said with annoyance at the workers. He didn't need to put up with this crap. This was all Clegane's fault anyway. "How can I help you fine gentlemen?"

"Where's your friend?" demanded the employee, somewhat puzzled. "The big one dressed like he came from a Renn fair."

"Oh, that guy?" Luke shook his head. "Nah, I don't know him at all. Some wacko, for sure. Yeah. Anyway, I hope you guys get him." He started to stroll away but was blocked by the officers. "Ah, jeez… are you serious right now?"

"Where _is _he?" repeated the employee. "If you ever want to step foot in this Target again, you'll tell me right now."

"I told you, you maniac, I don't know! Now please let me continue my wonderfully pleasant shopping experience in this crazy store!"

He stormed past them, and the employee said something into his radio.

—

"…_big guy all in armor, like a knight or something. No, I'm not joking. If you find him, ask him to leave."_ Sandor barely paid attention to the crackling voice coming from the radio of a nearby associate. He was too busy rifling through a bin of on sale panties he'd found in Lingerie.

"What, you mean this huge guy with the scarred-up face?" asked the associate, and that, Sandor heard. He looked up with a grunt, but then went on with his task. None of these panties were very sexy, but they were damn cheap. Sandor put a pair with polka dots and a bow on his pile of towels, and moved around to see if there was any actual negligée. He figured if he took the trouble to buy her something, she'd be willing to actually wear it for him.

"_That's him!"_

"Excuse me, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Sandor cocked an eyebrow at the man, then stood to his full height. The employee made to take a step back, but resisted the urge.

"I do believe I am a paying customer," growled Sandor. He smirked. "I'm not ready to leave just yet. I haven't finished running all my lady's errands, see?"

"I do see," said the employee firmly, "but you assaulted one of my fellow associates, and so for the safety of our staff and other customers, I must again ask you to leave now."

Clegane liked this one. He wasn't a chickenshit like the other worker. He leaned forward, close enough that he was breathing on the employee's face. His mouth was twisted up into a menacing grin. "Could you tell me, friend, where the _tampons_ are? My lady has run unfortunately low on her supply. She's just been bleeding all over the place. It's enough to make a man sick."

The employee didn't bat an eye. "Certainly, sir. Follow me."

"I'm no ser!" he barked at the employee, but he plodded on after him all the same. People in this town were always passing out sers like they were cheap whores.

He followed the associate out, like an idiot, to the front of the store. He saw the doors and stopped in his tracks. The other employee and two security guards were there waiting.

"You son of a whore," he roared at the unwavering associate. "Where am I supposed to get my bloody tampons now?!"

The first employee went pale, but the second said without missing a beat, "I'm sorry, but our tampons do not come bloodied. That'll be the work of your lovely lady."

"Henry!" gasped the first employee. "That is not appropriate—"

Sandor tackled Henry, towels and oven cleaner and panties dropping to the floor. The security guards were on him, but with a snarl he threw them both off and rammed Henry into an endcap full of Hello Kitty merchandise, setting off the Hello Kitty theme song.

"_K-I-T-T-Y! K-I-T-T-Y!"_

—

Luke was pushing his cart around Health & Beauty searching for Sandor. There was no way he was going to get these tampons by himself. But when he heard a loud yelling, a crash, and a subsequent cheery jingle, he had a feeling he knew where the brute had gone. He turned his cart down an aisle and rushed out toward the front, where Sandor was beating the ever living crap out of two employees and now four security officers.

"_WILL INVITE HER FRIENDS ALONG, THEY CAN HEAR HER PLAY A SONG, IT'S KITTY! KITTY, KITTY!"_

"Oh, hell—" Luke was rapidly debating his options when his cell phone rang. Without thinking, he picked it up. "Uh, ha, hello?"

"_Luke?"_ It was Lorelai. _"We're almost back, are you guys done?"_

"Ahhh, uh, yeah, almost, kind of—"

The sound of sirens filled the air and people were screaming and dropping their items all over the place. Kids were crying everywhere.

"_THEY'RE AN ITSY BITSY PRETTY KITTY FAMILY, BUT EVEN THOUGH THEY'RE KITTIES, THEY'RE LIKE YOU AND ME!"_

"_Luke? What in the hell is going on over there?"_

"Um, we'll meet you out in front!" Not wanting to be seen or get involved, Luke abandoned his overflowing cart and dashed behind the crowd to sneak out the doors. He had almost made it when the cops started pouring in.

"That's his accomplice, Officer," said the original employee, who had managed to crawl his way out of the fight. He was pointing right at Luke. "They're both extremely dangerous!"

"What?!" yelled Luke in response. "That's ridiculous—I didn't do anything!"

"He was going to walk out with his shopping cart while his dog distracted everybody!"

"My shopping cart's over there!" Luke jabbed his finger in the direction he had come. "I'm not a crook; I just wanna get out of here!"

"YOU CUNTS!" screamed Sandor. "YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME MISS OUT ON MY FUCKING CHICKEN!"

—

Luke and Sandor were sitting sullenly on their cell bench. Luke felt sick to his stomach about this whole thing. He had to tell Lor that they couldn't be friends with Sandor and Sansa anymore. He hadn't _done_ anything but be seen with this psychopath, but here he was, behind bars with him. He was just grateful that the big man hadn't seen fit to kill him while he was at it.

Sandor, meanwhile, wouldn't stop sulking about his lost chicken.

Finally, the girls arrived. Lorelai was fuming, but Luke didn't care. He was so happy to see her because it meant he could get away from this lunatic.

"What in the hell were you thinking?!" she demanded.

"_I_ was just doing shopping! What were _you_ thinking having the two of _us_ go shopping?"

"I didn't think you'd both end up in jail, that's for sure!"

He waved his hands. "You know what, never mind. I promise I will make it all up to you. Can you help me get out?"

She huffed, then groaned, "Fiiinnee…" and went to the desk to discuss bail.

Sansa, meanwhile, had ignored Sandor altogether and had been talking to the men at the front desk. The two women talked until some agreement had been made, and a set of keys jingling meant Luke was free.

"Don't talk to me," said Lorelai, holding up her hand. "I'm still very pissed off at you."

"I love you so much," Luke answered, pulling her in for a kiss. She shrugged him off, but had been softened enough to lead him out of the station by the hand.

Sansa stood in the cell over Sandor. "Let's go," she said coldly. "You'll have a court date soon, but I've convinced them to let you come home with me."

Sandor grunted, but didn't move. "I almost had it," he said gruffly. "I almost did it right, I thought. I got your bloody towels, your bloody oven cleaner, and your bloody panties. I was this close to the tampons." He held his fingers and thumb an inch apart.

The young woman frowned. "Panties?" she repeated. "I didn't ask for any panties. If I recall, I asked for a DVD of Love Actually."

"That fucking movie came out over ten years ago," he barked. "You really think they'd have that shit at the store anymore? Why would you send me out to do a job you know I couldn't do?"

"Because I thought you _could_ do it. Honestly, Sandor, it's not that hard to shop without killing someone."

He scoffed. "I didn't kill a single one of them."

"_Or_ getting in fights that land you in jail," she added, crossing her arms over her chest.

He sat in silence. She rolled her eyes.

"Stop your sulking. I know you're not upset about what you did, and I'm sure you're not upset with disappointing me."

"You don't know that."

"Is this about the KFC? Because if that's what you're upset about, I'm just going to leave you here. I don't _have_ to take you with me."

He grumbled to himself before saying, "Yes, okay, I wish I'd got my fucking chicken. Does that make you happy? But I also did try. I really thought I was trying."

There was another silence, and finally Sansa sighed. "Very well. Get up. Let's go home." He lifted his eyes hopefully, but she cut him off quickly: "DON'T ask me to stop by KFC."

"You promised I could have some if I didn't kill anybody," he protested. "You specifically said _kill._ Not maim or injure. And I didn't kill anyone. So I think after all this shit I've been through I deserve some fucking chicken."

Sansa sighed.

As they pulled out of the drive thru, Sandor said offhandedly, his mouth very full and very happy, "We shouldn't hang out with those two anymore. That Luke guy is a fucking weirdo."

The End

—

_Disclaimer: No Target employees or security officers were harmed in the making of this fic._


End file.
